Awakening
by Ultra Rodimus
Summary: The discovery of an ancient hidden facility in Cybertron's Badlands brings forth an ancient secret.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay... My mother broke her leg in May, and guess who got stuck as the "designated taxi". My car, a Hyundai Accent, rusted out from under me and was hauled away for scrap in June, so I'm stuck driving mom's Ford Focus (formerly my grandfather's) while waiting for my dad to get off his ass and fix the car he found for me, a red Honda Prelude. Also, mom's driving me right up the wall and back down the other side, yapping on and on about things I really couldn't care less about. Can't wait till her leg heals... She can go get her own drinks and she can fetch dad's snacks, and both of them can leave me the slag alone.

**Disclaimer:** Prima and the Transformers in general belong to Hasbro. Ultra Rodimus and Ultimus are mine.

**Awakening**

**Prologue**

Cybertron, roughly 85 million years ago...

The sun had already set on the metal world, though the horizons continued to glow sullen red as fires burned across ruined cities, fallen ships, and wrecked factories. Overhead, moving specks among the stars revealed the flight of those ships that had escaped the planet's atmosphere, the ones that had run early or had been at the front of the last few groups that managed to take off before the spaceports were overrun. Quite a few had not made it, bursting into flames under the fire of the revolting slaves.

A lone mech picked his way through the burnt-out debris of what had been a research facility, keeping to the shadows, hiding his bright yellow and blue paint in the darkness. Every few steps he would stop and listen, occasionally poking his head out to look around, making sure that no one had seen, no one was following. The very last thing he wanted to do was lead the rampaging hordes of his fellow Cybertronians to this place. He did not want them to find what was hidden here.

As he approached his destination, the blue and yellow mech named Prima slowed his pace even more, keeping himself hidden from any watching optic. Not for the first time, he wished he were darker in color, like the more typical greys and charcoals and blacks of many of his comrades. This would have been so much easier if he could blend right in with the shattered metal around him, rather than sticking out like a sore servo.

In the interest of losing any potential observers or followers, Prima took a very winding, meandering route, darting from one patch of cover to the next, until finally he ducked down a hidden passage, following it to a door. Pausing for a long moment, Prima cycled air to cool down his systems, then lifted one hand, knocking on the door in a precise sequence. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the door unlocked, allowing the blue and yellow mech to slip inside. Prima closed and resealed the door behind him, his optics adjusting to the difference between the darkness outside and the light of the hidden facility as he turned around.

Large cylindrical pods filled the chamber, wiring running across the ceilings and floors into each one. Each had a transparent metal hatch, at the moment open. Built into the side of each pod was a complex monitoring system, to record the vitals of the occupant. These were stasis chambers, meant to hold a mech in suspended animation for as long as they were programmed to, or as long as the power held out. This was one of several chambers in this hidden facility, all of them filled with the stasis chambers taken carefully from any breached complex where undamaged ones could be found. It had taken nearly a quarter of a vorn to gather all the equipment, working in secret, and to get this facility ready. The power supply had been isolated from the rest of the the planet's power grid and shielded to make it nearly impossible to detect from ouside. The complex would be entirely self-contained.

The chamber was also full of mechs.

At least a hundred filled the chamber, between the stasis pods, some sitting on the floor and talking amongst themselves, some sitting alone, some standing, either together or singly. Some bore the red brands of the domestic slave line, others the purple brand of the military technology slaves. All were heavily armored, their armor battered and dented and scorched despite all the repair work they had undergone. Scars cut across the bright colors and vivid markings many of them sported. More than one had horns and spikes decorating their helms, ornaments that were not part of their original design. Many of them also bore weapons, blades and maces and energy sabers.

As Prima stepped in, every head came up, every optic turning toward him. Every hand tightened on the grip of the nearest weapon, whether or not it actually belonged to them. Prima was not surprised. These mechs were gladiators, the arena fighters, built and trailed killers. And one of the most persecuted groups on the face of the planet.

"Prima." One of the gladiators, the biggest of them, pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against and picked his way over. "What news?"

"The Quintessons are almost all gone," the newcomer replied. "Most of them managed to get to thier ships and flee, throwing their sharkticon guards against the hordes pursuing them. Of the ships, many managed to break atmosphere. Then someone managed to get control of the heavy weapons towers. I saw ships exploding in mid-air, others crashing in flames. Any Quints that did not make it to their ships are being hunted down. It won't be long before Cybertron is empty of them."

The huge gladiator digested that in silence, then looked at the door behind Prima. After a moment, yellow optics shifted back to Prima, their rims crinkling in a questioning look.

The blue and yellow mech's shoulders drooped in sorrow as he shook his head, listening to the resulting ripple of shock that ran through the crowd. "I am sorry. There are no more. All of you are the last of the gladiators."

"The last?" someone asked shakily.

"I saw many, torn to pieces by enraged mobs. They pleaded for their lives, but no one would listen." Prima would not look at the crowd.

"I don't understand!" another gladiator spoke up. "We are Cybertronians, just like they are; why do they hate us so?"

"Because of what we are," the big yellow-eyed gladiator guessed softly.

Finally looking up, Prima nodded slowly. "They condemn those who tortured and murdered their comrades, anyone with Cybertronian fuel on their hands. Quints and sharkticons. Their drone guards. And the gladiators, who took more lives in the arenas than most of the guards ever did."

"We had no choice!" The speaker was a large grey and black mech, missing an optic and most of one arm. "We too were slaves; if we refused to fight or kill we were tortured, sometimes to death! Those who survived the torture were either thrown to those monstrous half-metal beasts or thrown into the smelting furnaces while still alive!"

"I know." Prima's voice was soft. "I do know. So do the others. But they are drunk on rage and victory, and all they see is the energon of their brothers on your hands and blades. That's why we built this." He gestured at the stasis chambers filling the room. "And why this place was built in secret."

The big yellow-eyed gladiator's optics narrowed. "To save us? How?"

"In time, we will start to forget what happened. New generations will build Cybertron anew, with no knowledge of the gladiators or your history. Here, you will sleep, held in stasis until the hatred fades. Then, when Cybertron is at peace, you can be released from stasis. You will be able to out aside your weapons and find new lives."

There was a long silence as the assembled gladiators considered that. Then one of those bearing the domestic slave brand grunted, pushing himself to his feet.

"Sounds better than always running and hiding, in fear of being found and slaughtered like a cyber-beast," the gladiator stated.

Sounds of agreement rose from the crowd. The gladiators began getting to their feet, brushing bits of debris off their armor. They moved toward the pods, poking at their outer shells before looking at Prima, waiting.

In all, just under four hundred gladiators entered the pods, entering stasis mode. prima eyed their vitals on the monitors, waiting for them to stablize before moving to the next pod. The biggest gladiator trailed him, watching. Finally, that big mech was the only one still awake.

The big gladiator looked at the empty pods, then down at himself, then at Prima, tilting his head slightly. Clearly he was too big for those pods. As Cybertronians went he was a giant, towering over his fellow gladiators and over Prima himself. "And how do you propose to get me into one of those things?"

Prima had to grin at that. "I did take your height into account, my friend. Follow me." He took his hand from the last occupied pod, leading the bigger mech into a side chamber. It was smaller than the main chambers, and contained a single pod. The pod was braced in the corner, slightly slanted, and much larger than the others.

"This pod wouldn't fit into the main chamber." Prima indicated it. "It took a long time for me to find one that would hold you without requiring that bits be removed to make you fit properly."

That got a snort out of the bigger mech as he stepped forward to inspect the stasis pod. Prima stepped out of his way, watching as his friend, his bodyguard during the most violent part of the rebellion, before the freed slaves had turned on the gladiators. The bigger mech was younger in spark than Prima, much younger in frame. All the repairs he'd undergone after fights in the arena had left his body much newer than his spark core. He wore the hide of one of the half-metal Quintesson monsters across his massive shoulders; it had come from a beast he'd killed in the arena.

Finally, the mech looked back at Prima. "Well, it looks like everything is in order..." He paused for a moment, looking at the pod. "And I guess I cannot delay. Every moment I wait increases the danger."

Prima stepped forward as the big mech entered the pod, leaning his back against the metal wall of the stasis unit. Yellow optics met blue as Prima began to close the hatch of the chamber, pausing to grasp forearms with the bigger mech one last time.

"I hope that you will awaken in a much better time than what you're leaving behind," Prima murmured, reluctantly letting go. "Farewell, Ultimus."

The stasis pod's hatch closed, locking into place. Ultimus watched as Prima began activating the unit. His systems began to wind down into stasis. The last thing he saw was Prima watching him, one hand on the pod's hatch. Then his systems shut down, and his vision faded to black.

**Tbc...**

Not quite the way I wanted it to come out, but, as always, my plot bunnies are being difficult. Remember, reviews fuel updates!


	2. Discovery

**Author's Note:** This is the most active plot bunny I've had in a long time, which explains the speed of this update. Don't get your hopes up that all my updates will be this fast. Real life has a distinct tendency to get in the way. Sometimes more than one bunny pops up for a single fic, which leaves me with even more stuff to sort out. Le sigh...

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Ultra Rodimus Prime and Ultimus belong to me. Transformers in general belongs to somebody else.

**Awakening**

**Chapter 1 - Discovery**

Cybertron, present day...

For once, the office was quiet.

For the last uncounted number of hours, the heavily-secured office of the Autobot commander, the Matrix-bearer, had echoed with the sound of computer keys clicking, datapads clacking against each other, a chair protesting its occupant's weight every time he shifted position, a stylus moving over datascreens, and the snoring of a cyber-wolf, as well as the sound of the office's owner humming absently to himself. Now the humming had fallen silent, and the cyber-wolf's snores had subsided.

Ultra Rodimus Prime, bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, leader of the Autobots and current commander of the Transformer homeworld Cybertron, sat behind his massive desk, elbows on its surface, staring at nothing in particular, thinking. Tapping the end of his pen against his lower lip, he pondered the current state of his faction and his homeworld. The autobots were once again in control of Cybertron, but the planet was a wreck. So much had been destroyed. Once-proud cities lay in ruins, the libraries and academies levelled, the surface torn and warped. Cybertron had been drained of energy by the long, vicious wars. Rebuilding was going to take a very long time.

Most of the datapads piled on the young Prime's desk dealt with the damage reports and the efforts to clear the debris. Ruined buildings were being demolished and melted down for the material to make new structures. Energon cubes were being brought from Earth via shuttle, as well as from a small station closer to the sun, that turned solar energy into energon. It wouldn't even register as a speck against the power depletion Cybertron had suffered. The planet would be eons healing itself.

There were some upsides, though. The clearing of the debris was uncovering ancient structures that had been covered over by later construction. Some of the ruins they were finding dated back to before Transformer history even began. The science teams were in their element, finding out everything they could about their lost past. Some of them had been wondering what might lurk in the bowels of the metal world, honeycombed with passages and tunnels. Ultra Rodimus was reluctant to send teams down there, knowing the state of those tunnels. And knowing how heavily booby-trapped most of them had been.

A _whuff _in his ear startled the grey mech out of his thoughts. Turning his head, he looked at the creature on his shoulder. "Am I getting too depressing for you?" he asked wryly, snorting at the yip he got in response. Reaching up, he scratched under the jaw of the turbo-fox lounging on his shoulders. "At least you're not stealing my pen this time..."

The door-chime went off. Ultra Rodimus blinked at his office door for a moment before calling for whoever it was to enter.

Perceptor stepped in, glancing around to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything. Seeing no one but his leader up to his elbows in paperwork, pet cyber-wolf curled up asleep on some rugs by the wall and turbo-fox doing her best impression of a collar, the microscope eased into the office, approaching the massive desk to stand in front of his Prime.

Ultra Rodimus dropped his pen onto the desk, stretching until his joints popped audibly and his chair squealed a protest. Leaning back, he gazed up at the scientist. "You've just saved me from drowning in a bottomless sea of paperwork, at least for the time being. But I thought you were out working on the ruins near where Vos used to be, or the Stargate terminus. What brings you back to Iacon?"

"A new discovery," the scientist replied, handing over a datapad. Ultra Rodimus took it, lifting a silver eyebrow in a silent question. Shifting, the microscope elaborated. "The team doing some work in the Badlands found signs of ancient activity there, and decided to take a closer look. What they found was an underground complex built between the levels of Cybertron's outer crust and the first layer of tunnels. A hidden facility that's been there, undisturbed, for Primus only knows how long. It's older than most of the ruins we've been finding."  
>"Where is it, exactly?" the young Prime asked, looking over the data in the datapad.<p>

The red and blue scientist listed the coordinates. A moment later Ultra Rodimus dropped the datapad with a startled grunt, grasping at his chestplate. The Matrix had begun to pulse, sending waves of energy through his circuits. He hadn't felt it do anything like that before. Something or someone within the artifact wanted him to go out there, to whatever facility the team had found.

Perceptor eyed his commander uncertainly. He knew that the Matrix did communicate with its bearer, but he'd never witnessed anything like this before. Usually the grey mech's communion with the Matrix was more like a state of deep meditation. The scientist had never personally seen the Matrix reacting quite this strongly before.

After a moment, the insistent pulsing subsided. Ultra Rodimus waited for a long moment, then dropped his pen onto the dest and stood up. His pet 'fox shifted on his shoulders, poking her nose at his neck curiously. He rubbed her ears, then walked around the desk, nudging Lightfoot. The cyber-wolf woke with a snort, blinking owlishly up at his master before yawning, stretching, and climbing to all fours.

"The Matrix is insisting that I go have a look for myself," the Prime explained, answering the unspoken question on Perceptor's face. "And it is insisting quite forcefully. I'm guessing there's something there that it, or someone within it, wants me to see."

The scientist nodded, his curiosity plain to see. All of the science team badly wanted to get a look at the Matrix and its relationship with its current bearer; never in Cybertron's known history had it been so active or interactive. Ultra Rodimus had been ducking various mechs, not wanting to become a long-term science experiment and knowing the Matrix would rather avoid that fate as well.

Skyfire waited outside of Autobase's gates, in his jet mode. Ultra Rodimus ran his hand along the side of the Valkyrie as he walked to the open hatch, Skyfire flicking his wings at his commander.

"You're really going to be amazed," the big jet said conversationally as he launched, turning in the direction of the hidden complex. "I've never seen anything like this place?"

"Has a way in been found?" Ultra Rodimus moved over to one of the viewports, looking over the ravaged landscape of the Badlands. The long-ago explosion that had created the Great Rift and blown Cybertron out of its orbit had melted entire cities to nothing but half-slagged ruins or eerily-smoothed plains, closer to the massive gap in the planet. Off to one side the Prime could see the lights of the Stargate building.

"When Perceptor and I came in to report, the excavation team had located what they thought was the entrance," Skyfire replied. "The explosion that flattened the cities buried the complex pretty thoroughly. Looks like it was built to withstand one Pit of a pounding, though. We only found it because a chink in its armor shell is letting us detect a working power source inside it."

Large lighting units had been set up around the excavation site. The Transformers could work perfectly well in the dark; mere darkness was no problem to their sophisticated optical systems. Light just made it easier to keep track of things. Metal slag had been piled well away from the site to prevent it falling back into the cleared area. Quickmix wasn't far from the slag piles, perched in his cement truck form and surrounded by a swarm of mechs, like worker bees around their queen. The mixer had clearly chosen not to waste the excavated material; he was melting and mixing alloys in his drum.

"Down there." Perceptor pointed.

A large cone-shaped hole had been dug out, widest at surface level. Several mechs were gathered at the bottom, clearly poking at something. They looked up as Skyfire circled overhead.

The white Valkyrie settled as close to the hole as he could get without falling in. Mechs swarmed around him briefly as he opened the hatch, allowing his passengers to dismbark. Perceptor had to run to keep up with his commander's long stride as the grey Prime made his way to the hole, choosing to slide down the sloping side rather than use the ramp cut into one side. The scientists moved aside for him as he approached them, revealing a slightly scorched wall and the wreck of a door, blown open long ago. It had been hidden behind a mass of fallen debris.

In its compartment, behind the young Prime's heavy armor, the Matrix trembled with horror.

"The Matrix knows this place," the young Prime murmured, getting odd looks from the other Autobots. "There is something here it wants found."

"We haven't gone inside yet." Someone handed Ultra Rodimus a handlight. "Only just found the door."

Frowning, the young Prime peered into the darkness. Then he activated the handlight, stepping through the wrecked entrance into a place where no mech had walked in Primus only knew how long. The bright glow of the light he held swept through the large chamber beyond the entrance, and what it revealed made the Matrix cringe as much as a crystal orb could with shock. Ultra Rodimus froze in place, his optics widening. The other mechs couldn't see past him, but they could see him, and from his body language they could tell he was both shocked and horrified by what he was seeing.

It took a long moment for the grey mech to throw off his shock and unfreeze his limbs. Turning, he looked back outside, expression grim.

"Get some lights in here," he ordered.

"Sir!" Mechs scattered to obey.

Ultra Rodimus watched for a moment, then turned back to the scene filling the chamber. "What the slag happened here?"

**Tbc...**

Kinda went off the rails at the end there... I think my plot bunnies are messing with my head. The next chapter should be up fairly quickly as well, so pardon the cliffhanger.

**Darth Krande:** They knew Prima was plotting something to save them, but most of them weren't sure exactly what. He was winging it for a while, and it took time to get as many gladiators as he could rounded up. Some probably knew, but most didn't.

**Evil Bunnies Inc:** ^_^ Glad you liked it!


	3. The Hidden

**Author's Note:** Another quick update. This plot bunny is trying to flood my headspace with ideas, and most of my OCs are running for cover. Some of them are begging me to let some of these ideas out before any of my OCs drown in it.

For those who are just starting this fic, this story is **part of an ongoing series. **See my profile page for the rest of the fics in this series. Otherwise some things mentioned in this fanfic might be more than a little confusing to those who haven't read the other stories.

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapter.

**Awakening**

**Chapter 2: The Hidden**

Ultra Rodimus Prime stayed near the entrance to the underground facility, watching as mechs scampered in and out, bringing with them the big light fixtures used for demolition or construction sites. Power cables snaked through the door, which had been enlarged to permit the entry and exit of mechs laden with equipment. They glanced at their leader but for the most part stayed out of his way. He was watching with an impassive expression and a neutral gaze, but there was a visibly blue-green glow leaking into the emerald of his optics. More blue-green light could be ever so faintly seen tracing the seams of his chest armor.

"Last light's up!" someone yelled.

"Activating!"

One by one, the big lights came on, lighting up the chamber. Mechs watched the sensor readings to make sure they stablized, then turned to survey the chamber. As they finally got a look they froze in place, staring in shock, finally seeing what their commander had seen.

The chamber was easily the size of Autobase's entrance plaza, the main courtyard of the fortress, with a ceiling high enough to accommodate a small gestalt or a big mech. Spaced at intervals, in precise rows, were upright columns or pods, instrument panels on their sides, with monitors to show energy levels and vital signs. Each pod, each chamber, had a transparent or translucent front hatch. Thick cables ran across the ceilings and floors down into each pod. After a moment, it became possible to identify the pods as ancient-style stasis chambers, meant to hold the occupants in stasis for long periods of time. From the bulky designs, they were one of the most ancient models of stasis chamber, a type that hadn't been used since the reign of Prime Nova.

Bare wires stuck out of smashed monitors. The intrument panels had been torn apart. Deep dents and gaping cuts ripped the sides of the stasis chambers. Most of the hatches had been smashed; some had been torn off. Twisted metal and shattered electronics littered the floor. But no one was really looking at the destroyed chambers.

All eyes were on the bodies.

Some were still in the chambers, slumped against the sides or the backs, vital fluids staining their shredded armor. A few had been pinned to their pods by their own weapons, jammed through their spark chambers. Many had been pulled from their chambers and either stabbed to death, shot point-blank, or simply torn to pieces. The floor was stained by long-dried vital fluids. Quite a few of them had never woken from stasis; they had died almost instantly. Of those who had woken, even partially, expressions ranged from surprise to shock to terror and pain. They had not had time to defend themselves. Energon and lubricants and coolant coated the floors, the walls where the stasis chambers were closest, even the ceiling. It looked like a vast pack of rabid mecha animals had broken in, attacking with fangs and claws and nothing but rabid fury.

It took a long moment for any of the assembled Autobots could throw off their shock and get back to work. Very slowly they started picking their way through the room, doing their very best not to step on any of the bodies. Ultra Rodimus threaded his way between the bodies, looking at each one.

"Search the facility," he finally ordered. "I want to know how many more chambers there might be in this place."

The grey mech's voice left no room for argument. His Autobots didn't even bother trying. The sight that had greeted them when the lights came on had left them in shock, and they too wanted to know. Search teams began probing the walls, looking for other passages or hidden doors. The Prime himself called Kup, who, as one of the oldest living Cybertronians, might have a clue as to who these mechs were.

"We found another chamber!" someone called across the main room. "Same as this, a slaughterhouse. We're looking for any other chambers beyond that."

Ultra Rodimus nodded. "Continue."

Kup arrived not long after. Muttering under his breath about being too old for such nonsense, the old mech walked down the ramp, approaching the much younger silver-haired mech waiting just outside the entrance to the underground facility.

"And just what is it you need my so-called expertise for?" the old mech grumped, frowning up at his commander.

"This facility pre-dates anything we've found so far. From the look of the stasis pods, this facility pre-dates the reign of Prime Nova, which means it dates at least to Prima and the Rebellion. Very little information from that time period survives. We don't know who these mechs were. So I'm hoping you'll have at least the barest clue." Ultra Rodimus indicated the opening into the underground facility.

The old mech picked his way slowly across the room, stopping to closely inspect the bodies. Ultra Rodimus trailed his former mentor, watching his reactions.

Kup grunted. "These mechs were gladiators, fighting in the arenas of the Quintessons when they ruled Cybertron. Dozens of unarmored and unarmed slaves would be thrown in with them, to be slaughtered for entertainment. They were bloodthirsty and merciless." The old mech's lips work as if he were about to adopt a human expression of contempt and spit on one of the corpses.

"Kup."

The old mech froze for an instant. He knew that tone. Slowly, he turned, his blue optics meeting laser-intense green.

"These gladiators, though trained to kill, were still Cybertronians, were they not?" The Prime's optics narrowed.

"Yes, they were," Kup finally agreed, feeling oddly like a human child in the principal's office.

"And Cybertronians at that time were slaves of the Quintessons, yes?"

"Yes," Kup agreed again.

"Then, if gladiators were Cybertronians and Cybertronians were slaves, then the gladiators themselves were slaves. Which would mean that if one refused to obey an order, they faced torture and death. Therefore, even though they killed helpless slaves in the arenas, they were not doing so of their own will. They had no choice. I would bet that they were nowhere near as bloodthirsty as you seem to think they were." The Prime crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing the elder mech.

The old mech was silent for a long moment as he digested that. Finally, he had to agree. He looked down, not meeting his leader's eyes or the blue-green glow behind the emerald.

Skyfire picked his way over, easing around a stasis pod and tapping the Prime on the shoulder. Ultra Rodimus turned to face him, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

"We found two other large chambers and several smaller, all full of stasis units," the large scientist reported. "All of them were full of dead mechs."

"Apparently they were gladiators, during the Occupation and through the Rebellion." Ultra Rodimus glanced at Kup. "From his reaction, I would bet that it was the rebelling slaves who did this. Someone was trying to save these mechs... From the way the Matrix is reacting, my bet is on Prima, the first Matrix-bearer. But the rebelling Cybertonians found this place. And they slaughtered every gladiator they could find. What was meant to be a safehouse became a mass grave."

The Valkyrie shifted. "Not all of them."

Ultra Rodimus's head jerked up, his optics wide. "What?"

Skyfire squirmed ever so slightly. "When we found the last chamber, we were looking for any more hidden entrances. One side of the last chamber had collapsed, and from all signs it happened before the killing began. Perceptor detected an empty space behind the blockage, so we moved the debris and found a very small antichamber containing a single stasis unit. The collapse kept the killers from finding that chamber and the pod it contains. The stasis unit is still active. And its occupant is still alive, in hibernation."

Blue-green light glared, briefly drowning out the bright emerald of the young Prime's eyes and sending shivers up Skyfire's spinal support even though he, like most of the Autobots, was more or less used to the Matrix's unusual level of activity. Without a word the Valkyrie turned and began heading back to that small isolated room, Ultra Rodimus right on his heels and Kup trailing behind.

The small chamber was packed with Autobots, all of them standing and just staring. The faint hum of active machinery could be heard from the far side of the room. Skyfire stopped just ouside the room; with the crowd inside, he simply would not fit. Ultra Rodimus moved past him, using his height to get a look over the heads of his warriors before starting to make his way through. it took a moment for the assembled to notice and move out of his way, allowing him to approach the pod.

This stasis unit was bigger than any of the others, braced in the corner of the chamber. There wasn't so much as a scratch on its surface or a dent on the transparent hatch. The monitor on the side was active, keeping careful track of the occupant's vitals. Perceptor was standing next to the pod, poking at the instrument panel. He looked up as the Autobot commander approached.

"According to the data logs, this chamber has been active for nearly eighty-five million Earth years," the microscope reported.

"That means he went into stasis at the end of the Rebellion, after the Quintessons had been driven off or killed." Ultra Rodimus stepped closer, looking into the unit.

The mech inside was tall, taller than the young Prime, easily sixty feet in height. He was more massive than the slim Matrix-bearer, with a deeper chest and broader shoulders. In color, he was silver, blue, and gold, with stylized, sculpted armor. Both arms sported wicked-looking gold spikes, the tips appearing to be as sharp as needles. His torso was mostly blue, with overlapping golden plates curving around to his back and blue markings on golden lower leg plating. A silver band like a low-riding belt supported an array of blue kilt-like plates, adding an extra layer of protection to his thighs and the vulnerable joints of the hip. A red gem was set in the center of that silver band, right above the hidden pelvic plating, a twin to the red stone gleaming on his helm, at the base of two curved golden horn-like crests. The helm and armor style were actually vaguely reminiscent of a Roman centurion from Earth's history. Hands and nech were a deeper grey, standing out against the bright silver, blue, and gold of his body. Astonishingly, the mech had a trait previously thought to be unique to the young Prime. Brilliant scarlet hair flowed over the mech's shoulders and fell nearly to mid-thigh, an odd contrast to the color of his armor. He had a more square jaw and a chiselled profile, ruggedly handsome in his own way.

The gladiator's armor was scarred by marks of past fights, blade scars and the jagged parallel lines of what could only be Transorganic claws. One scar had just missed his right optic, while another ran down almost the length of his neck cables. The shaggy pelt of some beast he'd killed in the forgotten past was draped over his shoulders, the blocky head of the beast on his chest and a paw still armed with at least ten razorlike claws dangling against his hip. From the size of the skin, it had been a formidable opponent.

For a long moment Ultra Rodimus just stood there, looking at the mech trapped inside the pod. A gladiator, alive, last of his kind. His eyes dropped to the brand the big mech carried. Stamped on his chest was a red face insignia, symbol of the domestic slave line, distant ancestors of the Autobots.

"He's an Autobot," the Prime announced, startling those closest to him. For a long moment he contemplated the pod, waiting long enough for the Matrix to pulse in his chest compartment, delivering enough of a kick to make the grey mech stagger, lifting one hand to his chestplate, grimacing. "Okay, okay! Hint taken! Now hold your horses, or I swear I'll kick you from here to the moons and back!"

That got him some very weird looks from the closest Autobots, until they noticed the hand on his chestplate. It wasn't the first time the Matrix had done something that made him respond to it out loud, but it WAS the first time they'd heard him threaten the Matrix if it didn't stop doing whatever it was doing. It got the desired result, though. The painful, staggering pulsing stopped, though the Matrix continued to radiate urgency. Ultra Rodimus closed his optics, cycling air through his systems until he regained his balance, then opened his optics and looked back at the dormant mech. Finally, he turned to face the others.

"Tell Medic Alert to get his kit and get down here, and tell him to bring downloads of modern Cybertronian and standard Earth English," he told the closest mech. "This mech has been asleep since Cybertron won freedom from the Quints, and the Matrix is telling me that it is time for him to wake up."

The still crowd became a frenze of activity, some bolting out to summon the medic and the proper equipment, others moving debris out of the way. The bodies of slaughtered gladiators were very carefully lifted into their pods so no one would step on or trip over them. Ultra Rodimus remained where he was, watching the activity.

The sound of helicopter blades rasping against each other heralded the arrival of the current CMO on Cybertron. Medic Alert was a triple changer, SAR twin-rotor helicopter and ambulance, and normally one of the shyest mechs the Prime had ever met. Under pressure, though, his personality did a complete 180, and he could be as pushy and verbally aggressive as his predecessor, Ratchet. Though much less inclined to throw things. He picked his way through the main chambers to the smaller side chamber, blue optics finding first his commander, then the mech in the stasis chamber.

"You're sure about this?" Medic Alert asked as he began pulling his equipment from subspace.

The silver-haired Prime nodded. "The Matrix is insisting on it. Forcefully enough to make me stagger. It, or someone inside it, wants him taken out of stasis."

Medic Alert gave the other mech's chest a penetrating stare, as if he were trying to stare right though to the shielded compartment that contained the Matrix. Then he flicked his rotors and fished out a patapad, trailing uplink cables. "You want me to give him the language downloads?"

"He's been in there since the reign of Prima, and we already know our language has shifted. I might be able to understand the ancient speech because I'm the Matrix-bearer and can ask my predecessors to translate, but he won't be able to understand modern Cybertronian. Or English, for that matter."

"Point." The medic approached the stasis unit, eyeing the panel before carefully turning down the stasis field and opening the pod. It took a moment of careful prodding to expose the dataport on the gladiator's neck, hidden behind a small armor plate. Medic Alert hooked up the datapad, waiting for it to sync to the gladiator's systems before he starting uploading the language files. As they uploaded, he pulled out a med scanner and began running it over the gladiator's massive frame, getting all he could before the big mech woke up. "His internal structure is as astonishing as yours is, boss... I can't wait to get a closer look at him. If he'll let me, that is."

"You're a medic, and one thing that hasn't changed since his time is the oath of the medic," Ultra Rodimus pointed out.

"True enough." Medic Alert checked the datapad. "Uploads complete. It's now or never."

Ultra Rodimus took up a position right in front of the stasis unit, squaring his shoulders. "All right then. Deactivate the stasis field."

"Deactivating." Medic Alert pressed a switch, and the hum of the stasis unit faded out entirely. The triple changer looked at the unit's built-in monitor, evaluating the readings even though he couldn't read the ancient writing, then looked at the gladiator. "He's deep under, but according to the readings he should be coming to any moment now."

Dark grey digits twitched. Ultra Rodmus watched, then lifted his gaze to the gladiator's face as his optic covers lifted, bright yellow optics flaring to life for the first time in nearly eighty-five million years.

**Tbc...**

And there's another chapter down! This one took me most of the evening and a good chunk of the night to write.

**SilverIcy: **It wasn't that the Matrix was reacting megatively. It, and especially Prima inside it, was consumed by shock, horror, and sorrow at what it/he was seeing. Those gladiators had been his friends and his guards when he and they fought to free Cybertron from the Quints. He tried so hard to save them, only for them to be found and slaughtered anyway.

**Evil Bunnies Inc: **XD;;; I know I'm good at cliffhangers. And yes, Prima was telling him to get his armored butt moving.

**Darth Krande:** XD You're not the first to curse at me for being evil with a cliffhanger, and you won't be the last

**shadow dragon04: **Prima did as best he could for them, but he himself was killed, and the hidden gladiators were found. Prima's spark is in the Matrix, so it's Prima himself who's reacting.


	4. New World

**Author's Note:** A reader who talks to me on MSN poked my plot bunnies into coughing up more story, so here comes the next chapter ^_^

Bonus: ART OF ULTIMUS! If you want to know what the gladiator Ultimus looks like, go check him out at http:/ rinny101. /gallery /29407801#/ d486xes (remove spaces)

**Disclaimer:** Ultra Rodimus Prime and Ultimus are mine. The Transformers in general belong to someone else; I'm only borrowing them and will let them go when I'm done

**Awakening**

**Chapter 3: New World**

Awareness was slow in coming. Ultimus's whole body felt strangely numb, his circuits prickling as systems shook off the lethargy of stasis. His optic covers felt like they weighed more than he did. The big gladiator tried to force his body to work, to move, but all he got was a spasm of his fingers. Finally his audial systems rebooted, allowing him to listen. What he heard was voices speaking in a language he didn't understand, clearly Cybertronian but a strange dialect. His nasal passages felt like they were full of dust, preventing his olfactory sensors from getting a whiff of anything.

He managed to very slightly twitch his whole body when he felt hands on his neck, but he was too weak and stiff from prolonged stasis to do anything about it. All he could do was wait for his systems to finish rebooting. Registering an upload into his core processor, he warily prodded at the introduced discovering that they were language programs, he allowed them to install. His audials hissed with static briefly, then rebooted. Now he could understand the voices around him.

The voice closest to him was commenting on the complexity of his internal structure. Ultimus's circuits shivered at the thought of anyone looking at his internal systems, until another voice, deeper than the first but not quite as deep as the gladiator's, pointed out that the oath of the medic had not changed despite the vast stretch of time between when Ultimus had gone into stasis and now. Hearing that made Ultimus wonder just how long he had been in stasis. It must have been a very long time for his body to be this lethargic.

Around him, the stasis pod hummed. Then the hum began to decrease in pitch, and Ultimus felt the numbness in his body receding along with it. The stasis field had apparently been only partially turned off, allowing his mind to be active while holding his body still. Most likely that was for safety; gladiators around people they didn't know tended to be more than a little twitchy. Ultimus waited patiently for the field to drop entirely, drawing in a huge breath and letting it hiss out through the vents on the sides of his neck and upper back. After running a series of system checks, he opened his optics, looking around.

When he had gone into stasis, the stasis chamber had stood in a clean, brightly-lit room. Now the overhead lighting units were dark, the walls streaked with corrosion. Shattered bits of metal and wrecked equipment littered the floor. The air smelled stale and like rust. A pair of strange mechs were moving what looked like a piece of collapsed ceiling away from the door.

Surroundings investigated, Ultimus turned his attention to the mechs.

The closer one was done in bold red-on-white, making him highky visible. Red crosses marked his shoulders and legs. This, then, was the medic. Two sets of three blades fanned out from his shoulders, rattling slightly against each other. Ultimus briefly wondered what they were for. The medic was holding a scanner in one white-fingered red hand, pointing the business end at the gladiator. From appearances, it was far more sophisticated than the ones Ultimus was familiar with. Which again hinted that he had been in stasis for far longer than anyone had intended. Stepping out of the stasis unit, Ultimus leaned toward the medic, drawing in a deep breath through his nasal passages. After scrutinizing the medic, who only stared back at him, for a long moment, the big mech turned his attention to the other mech in the room.

The other mech was almost as tall as Ultimus himself, just reaching the bigger mech's chin. He was very lean, but Ultimus had become an expert at evaluating other Cybertronians, and he could tell this mech's slim appearance was deceptive. He was a lot stronger than he looked. In color he was a light grey, marked with jagged stripes of blue and red. Surprisingly enough, he had a mane like the bigger mech, only silver-white instead of bright red, and a lot longer. Never before had Ultimus ever seen a mech with hair.

Optics of brilliant emerald green met Ultimus's sulfur-yellow. Ultimus paused, meeting that green gaze. Now he could feel the grey mech's aura of power; he was the mech in command. A moment later the big gladiator vented air in surprise as blue-green light flared, drowning out the emerald. He'd seen that glow before, from Prima. This grey mech was the Matrix-bearer.

"Can you understand me?" the grey mech asked, taking a step forward. His voice was the warm bass Ultimus had heard as he came out of stasis.

"Yes," the big redhead replied shortly, watching green optics flicker with surprise at his deep, almost subterranean bass voice. it was deeper and more powerful than the grey mech's, but lacked that commanding tone. Ultimus glanced around the room. "Where is Prima?"

"Prima?" The grey mech blinked. "Prima died a long time ago. No one knows what happened to him. He just vanished, and not long after a mech named Prime Nova appeared, carrying the Matrix. Prima's body was never found, and it never occurred to me to ask him what happened."

Ultimus gave the grey mech a strange look.

The grey mech's lips quirked. "One of the things about being bearer of the Matrix is that the sparks of all my predecessors are inside. As its bearer, I can communicate with them. Prima has been shoving at me from inside the thing since I found out about this complex." He shifted, tilting his head. "I am called Ultra Rodimus Prime."

The redhead gave him the slightest nod, acknowledging the grey mech's rank. "How long has it been?"

Ultra Rodimus gazed at him steadily for a long moment. "At least eighty-five million vorn have passed since you went into stasis."

Ultimus stiffened, staring at him. Yellow optics widened in shock. "How... We weren't supposed to be in stasis that long! Just long enough for memory to fade... So we could live in peace, without having to worry about being hunted down for what we'd been forced to do. But... It wasn't supposed to be this long!" A moment later the redhead's head snapped up as he suddenly recalled his comrades, the other gladiators who had gone into stasis. The medic squawked as Ultimus lurched forward, pushing past the grey mech and out into the main chamber, ducking to avoid running into what appeared to be a broken piece of the ceiling.

Then he caught sight of the chamber and froze in his tracks.

The main chamber was a wreck. The walls were pitted and scorched and streaked with rust. Some of the stasis chambers were tilted to the side. The harsh glare of big industrial lights pierced the gloom, under the shattered and burnt ceiling lights. Strange mechs stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise, staring at the strange mech. Ultimus, however, didn't see them.

He was staring at the shredded body that two of them were moving, a mech he'd known and fought with. The other gladiator's torso had been ripped open, an expression of terror frozen on his face. Deep gouges punctured heavy armor, and spilled fluids stained the floor where he'd lain.

Yellow eyes beginning to glow unhealthily bright slowly swept the chamber, taking in the stains of spilled energon and coolant, the disarticulated limbs, the broken bodies, realizing that all of the stasis chambers had been breached. His hands tightened into fists, the hydraulics whining with protest and the metal of his palms crumpling. Metal lips twitched, then curled back, exposing an even dental plate and a pair of wicked curved canines, a pair of fangs as long as a minibot's fingers. From deep in his chest rose a dangerous-sounding growl.

Sharp hearing registered the grey mech coming over to stand just behind him. Ultimus locked onto that sound, not looking at him. It took him a moment to be able to form words.

"What have you done?" he hissed, barely loudly enough for the words to be made out. Then the rage boiled over, and the growl became a roar. "_What have you done?" _He spun as quickly as his still-sluggish body would allow, sharp, hooked claws, his melee weapons, sliding out of their sheaths in his fingertips. Fangs bared, he lashed out at the closest mech, bent on exacting revenge for his slain comrades.

The grey mech was faster than anticipated, or maybe Ultimus was just slowed down by being so recently released from stasis hibernation. He ducked the slash, grabbing Ultimus's arm and twisting it behind him into a position most mechs' arms were not meant to go. Ultimus, however, wasn't the average mech. His joints were built for maximum flexibility and range of movement, and the grey mech got his arm twisted into a position that made every other mech in the area wince. Ultimus snarled his fury, but before he could do anything about it one leg was yanked out from under him, and he was slammed into the side of the one of the pods, forced to look inside to where the occupant had been pinned in place with his own weapon, right through the spark.

"This is _not _our doing!" the grey mech informed him, putting all the command he could muster into his voice. "Look and see for yourself! _Look!"_

Ultimus snarled at him, but against his will his optics went back to the dead gladiator in the stasis unit, a heavily-built mech whose name had been Driveline. Driveline's head was down, fluids running from the corner of his mouth and staining his armor as well as the blade that had killed him, under the corrosion...

...Wait a moment...

Yellow optics narrowed as Ultimus looked again, closer. The edges of his nasal vents flared as he inhaled, drawing in air. The deep wound in Driveline's chest was corroded and badly, the metal rusting out and giving way around the blade. The blade was just as badly corroded. The spilled energon and coolant and lubricants were long since dried, and the air smelled of rust and decay. This was not a recent death.

Ultra Rodimus could feel the tense muscle cables relaxing, saw the claws slide back into their sheaths. Carefully, warily, he released the bigger mech, stepping back. Ultimus shook out his arm without even glancing back, then reached out to poke the metal around the blade impaling Driveline. His finger went right through the rusted metal. Turning, the redhead moved to the next pod, inspecting its occupant just as closely.

"As best we can tell, this happened less than a vorn after the stasis units were activated," Ultra Rodimus told the redhead, watching him. "Something that happened on the surface breached the armor keeping this place hidden, and the rebelling slaves found it. The ceiling collapsed, hiding the entrance to the chamber holding your stasis unit, so no one found you. Otherwise you'd be dead as well."  
>"Almost four hundred of us went into stasis," the big redhead rumbled. "We were all that remained of our kind."<br>"You are the only one to survive." Green optics dimmed. "The Matrix mourns for them."

Ultimus remained still for a moment, then turned, walking back over to the grey mech. "None of the others made it?"

"We checked all the stasis chambers when we found this complex. All the others were killed. I am sorry."

Yellow eyes regarded him for a long moment. Then blue-armored shoulders slumped. "Prima hid us here in an attempt to save us. Once things calmed down, we would be released, to live out our lives in peace, free of the Quints."

"Prima was killed, or assassinated... No one knows. But there never was much peace, unfortunately. We don't know much about that ear. Much has been lost over the eons. What we do have will be made available to you in Iacon." Ultra Rodimus indicated the exit.

Ultimus nodded. He would look at those records, find out what he had missed.

The red and white medic shifted, rattling his shoulder-mounted blades loudly. Ultra Rodimus glanced at him, taking in the impatience on the medic's face. "For one of the shyest mechs I know, you sure can be pushy," he told the medic, his tone teasing. The medic rattled his blades, looking embarrassed. Then the grey mech turned back to the redhead. "We should get you to Iacon before Medic Alert here busts a circuit trying to figure out how you're put together. He's our CMO; it's his job to keep us all in one piece and functional."

"It has been a very long time since I last saw a medic," Ultimus confessed, though he was still uneasy about letting a stranger past his protective armor shell.

"Past time for you to get a checkup, then," the medic, Medic Alert, informed him, waving the med scanner.

"Let's get going, then." Ultra Rodimus waved for the big redhead to follow him, picking his way around the dead toward the exit. Partway there, he glanced back at the bigger mech, who trailed after him. "What are you called?"

"I am called Ultimus," the big redhead replied. "It was given to me by Prima."

"Ultimus," the grey mech repeated. "I am Ultra Rodimus, chosen bearer of the Matrix, given the title of Prime. Most of my warriors call me Roddy. It's less of a mouthful."

The redhead blinked at him. This Ultra Rodimus was definitely one of the oddest mechs he'd ever encountered. Resolving to keep an eye on the younger mech, Ultimus followed him through the complex, doing his best to not look at the devastation and death surrounding him, and out onto the surface of a world he hadn't seen in eighty-five million vorns.

**Tbc...**

Another chapter down. No idea how many more are to come; this fic is gonna run till the plot bunny winds down. Or I write myself into a corner. Whichever comes first.

**Evil Bunnies Inc: **Yes, the big guy's awake. He's going to be mourning the loss of his comrades in his own way for quite a while XD Ulti is a piece of cybertron history, so no surprise that other figures from the past get mentions in here

**SilverIcy: **How will Ulti deal? Not well. He'll pretend to be fine, because in the world he's used to showing weakness is usually a death sentence. But he's going to be really thrown for a loop and off-balance for quite a while.


	5. Culture Shock

**Author's Note:** After the last chapter my muse ran away and the plot bunny decided to be uncooperative; I had to hunt down one and prod the other until it coughed up another chapter. In the interim I have finally gotten to see TF3 Dark of the Moon... My dad got it early from the video store. Am totally buying it when it comes out...

**Disclaimer:** Ultimus, Ultra Rodimus, Roddy's skrill, and his two pets are my own creations. Everybody else belongs to somebody else.

**Awakening**

**Chapter 4: Culture Shock**

Ultimus followed the younger mech through the tunnels to the surface, watching as the grey mech picked his way through the rooms to avoid stepping on the dead. The big redhead approved of that, his opinion of the other mech rising a notch. Yellow eyes narrowed slightly as he evaluated this mech calling himself Prime. Ultra Rodimus was slim of build; he looked almost fragile at first glance. But on closer inspection his armor appeared to be even more advanced than that of the other mechs Ultimus had seen so far. The way he moved indicated great physical strength packed into a slender frame. He was a walking contradiction, slim yet very powerful.

As he followed the slightly shorter mech out of the complex, Ultimus watched how the other mechs interacted with Ultra Rodimus. The silver-maned mech wore his aura of command confidently if casually, allowing others to acknowledge it rather than forcing them to. The other mechs greeted him respectfully, glancing warily as the big redhead following him. That told Ultimus that this Ultra Rodimus was a respected, trusted authority figure.

"You said you were a Prime," Ultimus stated abruptly. "Yet when you introduced yourself you said it as a name."

Ultra Rodimus turned slightly, looking back at the larger mech briefly. "It's a bit of both. Prime is a title borne by the bearer of the Matrix, leader of the Autobot faction. Since the days of Prima, every Matrix-bearer has had the title of Prime added onto their name. Prime Nova. Sentinel Prime. Optimus Prime. And myself, Ultra Rodimus Prime. It comes from the name of Primus and is used to identify us. So it's a hereditary tradition. I inherited the name after the death of my predecessor."

"Death?" Ultimus blinked.

"The Matrix forms a bond with its bearer's spark. It only changes hands when its current bearer dies. No one is really sure what would happen to a Prime who gave up the Matrix and lived afterward, and I'm not really in any great hurry to find out." Ultra Rodimus shrugged. "My predecessor was killed in battle with his nemesis, the leader of the Decepticon faction. He was in power for around nine million vorns before his death."

Ultimus pondered that information, turning it over in his processor. "How is the next leader chosen?"

"The Matrix chooses its own bearer. Anyone can carry it, but it's more than a little picky about who it will actually accept and bond with. After Optimus died, he passed it to a mech named Ultra Magnus. Magnus carried it, but was never chosen by it. Finally it chose me, changing me from my previous form into the form you see now." The grey mech indicated himself. "Most of my warriors witnessed my transformation, so none of them had any doubt that I was the true chosen bearer."

"Seeing a mech who'd been blown almost in half brought back from the brink of death tends to have that effect," another mech called over. Ultra Rodimus only snorted.

The gladiator looked in the direction of the voice. His optics caught the red insignia the speaker bore, standing out boldly against his green armor. Turning his head, Ultimus looked at the others. All of them prominently bore the red mark of the domestic slave line. Puzzled, he looked back at Ultra Rodimus. "Do all of you bear the slave mark?"

"This?" Ultra Rodimus touched his own insignia. "It ceased to be a slave brand many eons ago. Now it is a symbol of liberation, and the insignia of the Autobots."

"Autobots?" the gladiator echoed. He thought for a moment. "A factional insignia."

"Autobots believe in freedom and peace. Most of us, by nature, are scientists, artists, architects, and explorers."

"Since when are explorers and scientists so heavily armored and armed?" Ultimus wanted to know.

"Since the Decepticons started a civil war, trying to seize control of Cybertron and use it as a base from which to conquer the rest of the known universe." Emerald optics were as hard as ice.

Ultimus regarded him. "If Autobots are descended from the domestic slaves..."

"The Decepticons come from the military technology lines. For a brief time after the rebellion, both races lived in peace. Then those who would become the Decepticons decided that they were better than us, that they deserved to have Cybertron for themselves. Since you last walked the planet there have been no less than four civil wars, mostly confined to Cybertron itself, with brief periods of relative peace between. The current war has been raging for nearly ten million vorns, and it encompasses most of this sector of the galaxy. Right now we're more or less at a stalemate." Ultra Rodimus had to duck slightly through a ragged hole; an ancient entrance hatch that had been blown out of place long ago, leading Ultimus to a roughly cut curving ramp.

"What of the Quintessons?" Ultimus asked abruptly, optics flaring.

"Nuisances with tentacles. After we threw them off in the rebellion, they stayed away for a long time. So long that most of Cybertron completely forgot about them. Resurfaced roughly a quarter of a vorn ago. They do make periodic attempts to get some payback for getting their slimy afts kicked, but as a whole we're too powerful for them. Every time they try, we send them packing. Most of us can't wait for the day when even the rumor of a Cybertronian will send the slimy wretches scuttling." At the top of the ramp he stopped, turning to face the gladiator and spreading his hands. "Welcome back to Cybertron."

Yellow eyes gave him a confused look. Then the big redhead lifted his gaze to take in their surroundings.

They stood on the edge of a pit excavated down to the hidden stasis complex, surrounded by piles of slag that had been dug out. The slag piles obscured the view. Singling out the highest vantage point, Ultimus headed toward it, the Prime following. Once at a higher point, Ultimus looked out over the surface of his homeworld.

Barren metal plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, under a dark, star-filled sky. The ground rolled in waves, indicating that it had that appearance due to the application of an immense amount of heat. In the far distance there was light on the horizon, but otherwise the only light came from the distant stars and the weak reflected glow of two moons.

Ultimus stared. Back when he had arrived at the underground facility, this area had been part of a vast industrial complex. There had been factories and spaceports and slave barracks, and the vast arena where he had fought to entertain the slavemasters. Not far away had been the palaces where the Quintessons themselves had resided. All of it was gone without a trace. Lifting his gaze to the sky, he tried to find the familiar constellations and stars. Only rarely had he been able to see the stars beyond the glare of the lights, but he'd seen them enough to know what positions they should be in. Now, he could see none of them. The distant horizons were dark, with no hint of an impending sunrise or the last fading remnants of twilight. The air smelled strongly of spilled fluids and burnt metal and decay with the sharp tang of smoke underneath, as well as being thinner than he remembered it being.

"Where is the sun?" he asked, directing the question at the grey mech next to him.

"There is no sun." Ultra Rodimus gave a mirthless smile at the resulting stare from the gladiator. "About seventy million vorns ago, there was a tremendous explosion near here. What caused it is unknown. But that explosion was so massive and powerful that it tore the side of the planet open and blew Cybertron out of its orbit. The shockwave flattened the city that stood here, as well as every city for hundreds of stretches in every direction. The heat blast and fireball melted everything into what you see now. This area is known as the Badlands, flanking the Great Rift. You can't see the Rift from here, but you will when we return to Autobase." He looked out over the barren landscape. "Millions of Cybertronians made their homes here. Many were families, with younglings and sparklings. None of them survived that terrible explosion. They died instantly, their remains melted into the ruins of their homes."

The big gladiator reeled. When he had stepped into that stasis chamber and said his farewells to Prima, he had expected that Cybertron would be different when he emerged. But he had never expected so drastic a change. The Cybertron he knew was gone and all his comrades were dead; he had no one to help him deal with this new world.

Ultra Rodimus placed a hand on his shoulder, over the huge pelt he still wore. "I know this is a lot for you to take in. It has been a very long time since you last walked Cybertron, and it is nothing like you remember. I understand why you're afraid."

Yellow eyes flared brightly. Ultimus pulled away from the younger mech, baring his fangs in a snarl. In his world, fear was a sign of weakness, and those who were weak did not survive. "I am afraid of nothing!"

The Prime merely looked at him, not at all fazed by the display, though some of the watching mechs had jumped and were now watching him nervously. Those level green eyes looked ancient. "For us it has been eighty-five million vorns since the rebellion, while for you it has barely been a joor. Nothing is as you remember it. All of your friends and comrades are gone. You are a stranger in this world now, with no one to turn to. If you aren't at least a little frightened by the change, then you have a major glitch in your precessor."

For a long moment the two stood in silence, staring at each other. Then Ultimus dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping under the Transorganic pelt. "You're right," he admitted. "I am afraid. I know nothing of this changed world, and I have no idea of my place in it."

The grey mech stepped closer, reaching out to rest his palm over the red insignia on the bigger mech's chestplate. "You bear our insignia; you are one of us, an Autobot. As Prime, it is my duty to guide and protect my people. I will not leave you in the lurch, drifting aimlessly. You will find your place among us." Green eyes glowed solemnly, and Ultimus managed a weak smile of thanks.

An imperious rattle from below attracted their attention, and Ultra Rodimus made a rude gesture at the glaring medic down below. Rolling his eyes at the answering, equally rude gesture, he gently tugged on Ultimus's elbow. "Let's get you to Iacon before Medic Alert pops a rotor assembly." Keeping his hand on the reeling gladiator's arm, he led the way down to where a large white craft waited. The two boarded, Ultra Rodimus leading Ultimus over to a viewport as the craft took of. "Look there."

Ultimus followed the pointing finger and went stiff, his eyes going wide. It was one thing to hear about a great gaping hole in the planet, but it was quite another to see it. As the ship rose higher, more of the landscape was revealed. The melted wastelands continued right to the edge of a sheer drop, the edge of a vast wound so huge the other side was lost in the distance, as was the bottom. Speechless, the big gladiator peered down into the blackness, seeing the levels of the planet until they were swallowed up in the darkness.

"That's the Rift," Ultra Rodimus told him. "It's so deep it almost reaches the planet core, and stretches about two-thirds of the way from the north pole to the south pole. The whole area is off-limits because the edges are dangerously unstable."

"Great Primus," Ultimus whispered, unable to look away from the devastation until the ship veered away from it and it vanished behind them. The redhead shook himself, turning his attention to the rest of the landscape. Farther away from the Rift and the Badlands, the damage was more blast damage than heat damage. Wrecked cities sprawled across the plains, dotted with the shattered arcs of the vast highways. On the horizon, the single spot of light slowly grew larger as they approached, eventually resolving itself into a once-proud city, mostly fallen to ruin, surrounding a walled, domed fortress.

"Iacon, formerly one of the more powerful city-states on Cybertron." Ultra Rodimus rested one hand on the viewport. "And one of the last cities to be attacked by the Decepticons. That's Autobase, the Autobot stronghold, in the center."

As the ship approached, the great dome began to open. It spread just wide enough for their craft to slip inside, then closed again, forming a solid dome over Autobase. The white ship circled down to the vast plaza in front of the great gates, coming in for a neat landing. Ultra Rodimus tugged Ultimus toward the ramp as the hatch opened, then led him out into Autobase.

Ultimus paused at the bottom of the ramp, looking around. He could hear mechs murmuring, wondering who this red-maned stranger was, but he ignored them in favor of taking in the complex. The walls sported defensive weapons stations and catwalks, as well as openings through which an individual warrior could stand and shoot. The plaza was well-lit and large enough for a significant force to gather. The complex itself had been built with defense in mind as well as functionality. He approved.

The redhead was walking toward the entrance through which other mechs were emerging when Ultra Rodimus suddenly grabbed his arm, bringing him to a halt. Yellow optics fixed on him, a scarlet eyebrow lifting in a silent question. The Prime pointed down, and Ultimus followed the gesture.

Almost underfoot was a very small being, glaring up at them. Ultimus's sensors told him that this creature, barely reaching above his ankle joint, was entirely non-mechanical in nature. It was entirely organic, like some of the Quintessons' clients long ago. But he'd had no contact with them; he'd only been an arena beast. This was the closest he'd ever been to an organic.

The organic had dull brown fibers on its head, much shorter than Ultimus's own fiery red mane. It wore some kind of fabric covering its body. Slowly, Ultimus crouched down for a better look, tilting his head to one side before extending a hand to poke the creature. It moved as if to slap the prodding digit aside, only to yelp and clutch its appendage after striking Ultimus' metal armor.

"Just what do you think you're doing, you metalhead?" it demanded.

Ultimus didn't _quite _jump, but he did jerk a bit in surprise. "It talks!"

"Of course I can talk, you oversized imbicile!" the creature shrilled while Ultra Rodimus let out an amused snort. "What do you think you're doing? You almost stepped on me! Watch where you're going! You robots are supposed to give way to us humans!"

Ultra Rodimus leaned over, glaring down at the creature. "We're not 'supposed' to do anything. It's a courtesy, since you're so much smaller than we. We could just as easily make you watch out for _us _instead of vice versa. Ultimus has never seen a human before, or any organic being so small. He's never had any experience with organics of any kind. So of course he doesn't know to look down or watch where he puts his feet." Emerald eyes narrowed. "This is our world. And since you are supposedly a diplomatic aide on _our _world, you shouldn't be expecting us to cater to your every whim. Smarten up. Or next time, if he forgets to check for small life-forms underfoot, I won't stop him."

The organic went from red to white and scuttled off. Ultra Rodimus growled something rude in ancient Cybertronian before turning back to Ultimus. "Cybertron is in contact with many worlds now, and many different species. We've made a habit of tuning our sensors to detect smaller life-forms anywhere in our immediate vicinity, to avoid stepping on anyone. It's something you'll have to get used to. I'm certain there will be a few missteps and near misses until you adapt, though." He tugged Ultimus to his feet, indicating the entrance to Autobase. "I'll show you to the Medbay."

Ultimus nodded. Glancing once more after the weird organic creature, he followed the Prime into the base. Hopefully he'd be given access to the databases; there was a lot he had to catch up on.

**Tbc...**

Another chapter down!

I am aware that there were more Primes than just the ones I named, but I have yet to find a list of them, so I'm not going to try listing them. And I picked the best Cybertronian time measurements I could for this chapter. A joor is roughly six and a half hours, and a vorn is 83 years.

**Evil Bunnies Inc:** If Ultimus had landed that swipe one of Roddy's escorts probably would have taken a shot at him, for attacking the Prime. Fortunately, Ulti's systems hadn't finished getting themselves straightened out and Roddy's a quick bugger. As for the death of Prima, it's very vague; not much to work with.

**SilverIcy: **Oh yeah, Ulti's been thrown for a loop. He has no idea what to make of this changed world. As for Prima, I'm not entirely sure. Sources are very vague about how he died. One source said Prima was a gladiator who got tired of fighting, turned on the Quints and was killed immediately. Other sources say he simply vanished without a trace. I'm going with the latter.

**Vigatus: **I'm glad you like it ^_^ And probably not; Poor Ulti's got enough to deal with right now without the 'Cons making nuisances of themselves


	6. Repairs and Upgrades

**Author's Note:** I am not dead!

For the last several months I have actually been collaborating with another author here at . I've been working with fellow fanfic author **Gatekat **on several stories, and introducing a few of my other OCs in them. To date, we have written and completed:

**Hunters from the Light**, a Knights of Light AU. Anyone who's read IDW's four-part Drift miniseries would know about the Knights and their hidden city; I have been writing as Wing, Dai Atlas, Axe, and a few Random Characters, as well as adopting the Knight medic Redline into my crew. My own personal OCs Titanium and his mate GoldenRod (Ultra Rodimus's twin) appear in this story.

**Charm and Charmer**, a short sequel to "Hunters", a coming-of-age story of Drift and Wing's creation, Striker.

**Striker's Thorn** and **When A Jet Shows Interest**, "Hunters" sidestories, the latter introducing my oc Spindrift, one of the oddest mechs in my headspace.

**Honor's Demands**, a Knights of Light AU in yet another universe. I wrote as Wing, Dai Atlas, Axe, and my own OCs Titanium, GoldenRod, Medic Alert, Spindrift, and Idarassi (Cybertronian but not a Transformer). The last chapter is a Truth or Dare chapter, and it was so fragging fun to write. Also co-written with Starshield over at Livejournal

**Darkness and Lightning**, a Knights of Shadow mirrorverse AU. Mirrorverse, but not Shattered Glass. I wrote as Dark!Wing, Nightsun, and occasionally as Dark!Dai Atlas, as well as my own character, Master Knight Shogun, and a few Random Characters.

Currently underway is yet another Knights of Light fic, **Kneeling to the Sword**, but posting will not begin until the writing is finished, so this one won't be posted for a while.

So I'm not dead, nor am I really on hiatus. I've been collaborating on other fics, posted here by Gatekat. They turned out awesome. Go have a look! And don't forget to review!

I am also in possession of a Nintendo Wii, which has proven quite a distraction as well. It's an older Wii, so it will play Gamecube games, and I have found Super Mario Sunshine for it. Now I just need Luigi's Mansion... Don't suppose anyone has a spare copy? Otherwise, the lure of Mario Kart Wii and Super Mario Galaxy have been pulling me away from the computer. And my wireless connection drives me NUTS

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Transformers. Never did, never will. I'm just borrowing them. Ultra Rodimus, Medic Alert, and Ultimus are my own characters.

**Awakening**

**Chapter 5: Repairs and Upgrades**

As Ultimus followed Ultra Rodimus through the corridors of Autobase toward the medical bay, tension began to built under blue and gold armor. Back in the time of gladiatorial arenas and Quintesson rule, very rarely had anything good come of a stay in the hands of the medics. All the medics Ultimus had known had been slaves, and if one of the masters wanted a patient for their experiments, the medics had been unable to refuse. The bays had always been lit sparingly, with old and generally broken-down equipment; the Quints had seen no reason to waste good resources on slaves who were only meant to fight and die in the most entertaining ways possible. Spilled fuel and broken armor had littered the floors. The air had smelled of burnt metal and charred circuits, with the acrid bite of burning energon underneath. It had always taken days to get that smell out of his nasal passages.

To distract himself, Ultimus concentrated on examining the complex as he was led through it. The ceilings were high enough to accomodate his height and wide enough for large mechs to pass each other easily. Bright lights lined the ceilings, leaving no shadows in which trouble could lurk, and the metal was clean and reasonably well-kept. Most intersections had directional markers in several different languages, including the angular characters of modern Cybertronian. Ultimus eyed the script, unable to read any of it. He hoped that, whatever else might happen, he could get the latest language packs. Not being able to understand the world around him was more than a little frustrating.

Ultra Rodimus kept a sensor on the bigger mech, having to strain to hear the sound of Ultimus' footsteps. The ancient warrior moved like a cat, smooth and eerily silent considering his size and sheer mass. The grey Prime was not oblivious to the tension radiating from under Ultimus' armor. He could almost see muscle cable tensing under hard outer armor, practically feel the older mech preparing to either fight or bolt, and Ultra Rodimus guessed that Ultimus had had many unpleasant encounters with mechs called "medics" back when the Quintessons had ruled the planet. Considering what the Quints Ultra Rodimus was familiar with were like, the Prime couldn't blame Ultimus for being nervous.

"This is the medical bay," Ultra Rodimus announced, leading Ultimus through double doors marked with vivid red crosses, the universal symbol of medics.

Ultimus stalked through the doors, expecting the worst, then stopped and just stared.

The medical bay was bigger than he'd expected, and brightly lit. Neat medical berths, each with their own monitoring equipment and tools, lined one wall, while other doors led off to what he presumed were storage and supply rooms, decontamination areas, quarantine wards, and private rooms. Walls and floors were spotless, tools laid out precisely, and the only scents in the air were of disinfectants and cleansers. At the far end, a large one-way window overlooked the entire bay from what was presumably the CMO's personal office. All of the equipment was clearly state-of-the-art and very well maintained.

"Not what you'd expected, I take it?" Ultra Rodimus asked, stopping and waiting for the larger mech to get his mental feel back under him.

"Not in the least," Ultimus admitted, shaking himself to get his processor back in order and looking at the Prime. "Medical bays back in my time were nothing like this."

"They more closely resembled torture chambers, I'm guessing." Ultra Rodimus gave him an understanding look. "I've had enough encounters with those tentacle-dragging pieces of scum to know how they treat captives."

A flask of red and white caught Ultimus' optic. The red and white triple changer, Medic Alert, had emerged from one of the side rooms and was waiting patiently for them. Ultra Rodimus tugged lightly at Ultimus' arm, tilting his head toward the medic.

"Big mechs like us have our own room. The main facility was made for smaller mechs, and those with less complicated internal structures. The private room will also stop the curious from coming in to gawk at you while you're being worked on," the Prime explained.

Nodding his understanding, Ultimus followed the young Prime over to what turned out to be a fair-sized room containing an oversized medical berth, the monitoring equipment lining the wall at the head end, a tool tray and spare parts cart off to one side. There were bins for worn-out parts to be tossed into, and a container for disposing of fluid-stained rags. Everything was clean and ready for use.

The big former gladiator eased into the room, prowling it to get a good look at everything. Ultra Rodimus and Medic Alert waited by the door while Ultimus inspected the room, then sat on the berth.

Yellow optics fixed on Medic Alert's blue. "Exactly what is it you plan on doing to me?"

"I'll be looking for old damage, weak spots or ill-repaired injuries," the triple changer explained. "Because of the time period you're from, your systems are very likely behind the current level of technology, so I am anticipating having to perform significant upgrades to your operating systems and your frame. There are new firewalls and anti-virus programs to be installed, and you're in need of a good defrag. Any existing glitches will be as repaired as possible, then I'll upload the language packs and datafiles you'll need. I have to build a complete medical file for you, since from now on I'll be your CMO and responsible for keeping you well-maintained and healthy."

Ultimus pondered that, then nodded. "Then let's get it over with." Swinging his legs onto the berth, the big redhead lay back, unlocking his armor and settling into medical stasis.

Medic Alert's plating rattled, then the medic let out a relieved sigh, gazing at the supine mech on the berth. "That went much more smoothly than I'd thought it would."

"He's wary, but he's willing to give us a chance to earn his trust," Ultra Rodimus replied. He shifted his weight. "I'll get out of your way, then... I have a pile of paperwork awaiting my attention. Call me when you're done, before you wake him up."

"Will do." Medic Alert nodded, watching the Prime leave. Then he turned all his attention to the mech on the medical berth.

It took more than an Earth week for Medic Alert to complete the repairs. The sheer amout of half-repaired or shoddily-repaired damage had appalled the medic, leading him to wonder just how the big redhead had managed to keep functioning at all, let alone at such a high level. Any other mech would have died long before. Ultra Rodimus shrugged and said it probably had to do with the strength of the spark that powered the badly battered frame. Ultimus had a will as strong as the young Prime's, a spark that would not simply lay down and meekly allow itself to extinguish.

Ultra Rodimus was standing next to the med berth, watching as Medic Alert sealed down blue and gold armor, preparing to wake the big former gladiator. The medic eyed the monitors carefully for a long moment, then began the booting procedure.

Ultimus came online slowly, data scrolling past his HUD. It told him that he had been offline for a considerable amount of time. Most of his insides had that itchy, achy tightness of fresh repairs, and major repairs at that. Opening his optics, he blinked at the ceiling before slowly, carefully sitting up on the berth, taking his time getting used to the new, strange feelings. The itchy ache of new parts aside, he felt better than he had in a long time.

"How are you feeling?" Ultra Rodimus asked, catching his attention.

"I haven't felt this good in a very long time," Ultimus admitted. "Or, at least I will when the new parts finish integrating." He glanced at Medic Alert. "I take it there was a lot of work to be done?"

The red-and-white huffed, his rotor blades flaring out briefly before resettling against his back. "Enough for me to dearly wish there was a way for me to go back in time and thrash some sense into those hacks posing as medics back then. Almost every system in your frame bore half-repaired or shoddily repaired damage. It's a Primus-granted miracle that you survived as long as you have. I had to completely overhaul your motor and electrical systems, not to mention replacing fuel lines and circuit boards. Which was not easy; the complexity of your internal systems is on par with Ultra Rodimus'."

The grey-armored Prime let out a low whistle at that.

"I also had to repair a major glitch in your fuel-processing system, and I admit I am extremely curious about how you managed to survive to your current age while being unable to fully process energon. You weren't getting half of what you needed from your fuel." Medic Alert's blue optics fixed on Ultimus' yellow, waiting for an answer. "It wasn't easy," Ultimus admitted. "I existed on the bare edge of starvation for a long time. It was a pure accident when I discovered that my systems could handle pre-processed energon. Of course, at the time there was only one source of that type of energon."

Medic Alert looked confused, while Ultra Rodimus nodded his understanding. "You became a vampire out of pure necessity."

"Vampire?" the redhead echoed, confused.

"Earth concept," the Prime replied. "From one of the organic worlds we're involved with. A vampire is a being that survives by drinking the blood, the fuel, of others. Your elongated dental plates would be very useful in puncturing the fuel lines in the neck."

Ultimus pondered that, then nodded. "That's pretty much it. In the arenas, with dozens of mechs dying every day to entertain our enslavers, I had no shortage of fuel."

"But you weren't processing enough minerals out of it to give your internal repair system a chance at repairing any of the damage you were constantly accumulating." Medic Alert handed Ultimus a cube of blue-hued medical-grade energon with heavy doses of minerals and metals mixed into it. "I repaired the glitch and replaced most of your processing plant, so you can drink regular energon now. I've made up a supply of energon mixed with minerals and metals for you to consume, to bring your internal repair system back up to full strength."

The redhead accepted the cube, taking a sip. Sulfur-yellow optics lit up as the energon settled into his tanks, tasting better than any of the brews he'd attempted to drink before his long stint in stasis. The next drink was larger, once he was sure his tanks were not going to reject the energon.

"Is he a Transformer?" Ultra Rodimus asked, looking at Medic Alert, one silver eyebrow raised.

Ultimus blinked at him. "Am I a _what?" _

"He is," Medic Alert answered. "Most unusual for a mech from his time period, since that was before alt modes became standard or were even known at all. He has a fully functional transformation cog and a lot of kibble tucked away under his armor, and probably some in subspace, like your own. But the systems have never been used."

"What's his alt?" Ultra Rodimus wanted to know.

"Alts, plural," the medic replied. "That thicker armor on his back? Wings, folded down in sections to lay flat against his back. He's also got the antigravs of a ground alt, and there are signs of a beast mode as well. He's a quad-changer."

"So, airframe alt, ground alt, and beast alt." Ultra Rodimus noted that. "Interesting."

"Alt modes? Transformer?" Ultimus eyed both of them suspiciously.

"The art of transforming was developed after your time; I'm not surprised you're unaware of it," Ultra Rodimus replied. "Modern Cybertronians are capable of reconfiguring our forms from bipedal to vehicular. Makes it easier for hauling loads and covering terrain. Most Cybertronians are either airframes, fliers, or groundframes. Triple changers, mechs with two alts, are less common. And those with more than two alts are fairly rare."

"You'll have to be taught to transform," Medic Alert added.

Ultra Rodimus tapped Medic Alert on the shoulder. "Please don't crash his CPU from information overload," he told the medic, who subsided. The Prime turned his attention to Ultimus. "While he was working on you, he uploaded all the necessary language packs and information files into your processor. You'll need time to go through them in detail. I'll show you to your assigned quarters, so you can start going through the data."

Ultimus nodded, getting to his feet. He took a moment to test his balance, then followed Ultra Rodimus out of the medical bay.

The corridor the silver-haired mech led him to was clearly the residence wing of the Autobase complex. Other mechs looked up at Ultimus curiously, but no one bothered them. Ultra Rodimus nodded to them, then stopped in front of a door.

"These are your quarters," Ultra Rodimus told Ultimus, sending him a databurst with the access code. "A map of the complex was uploaded to your processor; it will give you directions to anywhere in the base you wish to go. The washracks, the rec room, the training rooms, and anywhere else. Just avoid the science labs. You don't speak Perceptor-ese yet."

The look the redhead gave him indicated that Ultimus would be wanting an explanation for that at some point. Then Ultimus entered the access code into the keypad beside the door, watching as the door hissed open.

"If you need anything, you can comm me anytime," Ultra Rodimus told him. "As a Prime, I'm pretty much constantly on call." With that, he took his leave.

Ultimus watched him go, then entered his quarters. The rooms were sparsely decorated, but comfortably furnished for a mech of his size. There was a couch and several chairs, a vid screen, and several tables. Another door, this one without a lock, led to the inner room, which contained a comfortable berth. The main room had a window overlooking the courtyard, while the inner room didn't. Sparse, but to a mech who'd spent most of his life chained in a tiny, dark, filthy cell when he wasn;t fighting, it was the height of luxury.

The redhead sat on the berth, feeling the thick padded covering adjusting itself to his frame, then lay down, curling up on his side. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

**Tbc...**

Poor Ulti; the world is so confusing for him. But he'll adapt; he has to. Still, he's probably going to have quite a few CPU aches before he adjusts to this new time period.

**MajinBakaHentai:** I did find the TF Wiki sites. I'm just so used to there being fewer Primes. It'll take some time to get my head around.

Oh yeah, Ulti has a _lot _to adjust to. Cybertron has been through so much, and so much has changed since he last walked the planet, and his head is already reeling. But fortunately, he is the adaptable type; if he wasn't he would never have survived as long as he has.

**Evil Bunnies Inc:** Roddy's had to cultivate that level of patience. He would love to just step on the little pest, or at least swat him across the room, but it just causes too much of a hassle for it to be worth it. And removing one pest just leaves an opening for a worse pest to show up.

It's the best explanation I've come up with for why Cybertron has no sun. I figure the metal shell was built around an existing planetoid as the core, then somehow lost its sun. If the sun had died or exploded it would have fried Cybertron, so something must have happened to blow the planet out of its orbit.

XD Sideswipe has to meet Ulti first.

**Gromia:** I'm aware that Earth years and Cybertronian vorns don't add up... 85 million vorns equals over 7,055,000,000 Earth years. Over seven BILLION years. Ultimus predates the planet, basically. I'm just too lazy to bother converting back and forth.

**Darth Krande:** Yup, poor Primus really took a beating. Good thing he spends most of his time asleep, or he'd be howling in pain by now.


	7. Adapting

**Author's Note:** Still not dead! Just very, very distracted. RL is a major pain in the rear end, and it shows no signs of slowing down any time soon. I had to literally wrestle my plot bunnies to the ground and practically stick my arm down their throats to get this update.

The collaboration I was writing with Gatekat, **Kneeling to the Sword**, has been completed and posted under Kat's screen name. I love the depth of the relationship between my Titanium and Dai Atlas. They're very close.

The wireless internet glitching has finally been solved with the purchase of 100 feet of ethernet cable, giving me a hardline to the modem. No more dropped connection. Which I am very glad for. Now I can do what I want online without worrying about the connection flaking out on me. Which gives me more time to worry about the fact that my computer's motherboard is starting to go on me.

Has anyone seen the game trailer for Fall of Cybertron? Metroplex is in it. I so can't wait for this game to come out.

**Disclaimer:** Is repeating myself really necessary?

**Awakening**

**Chapter 6: Adapting**

"You wanted to see me?"

Medic Alert looked up from his terminal as Ultra Rodimus walked into his office, the taller mech's green optics fixed on his CMO. "Yes, I did." The red and white mech waved his Prime around the desk, turning his computer screen toward the grey mech. "I've been looking at the scans I took of Ultimus' frame while I was repairing him."

Silver brows met over the bridge of Ultra Rodimus' nose as he took in the data. "I can see what you meant when you said his schematics were on par with mine for complexity. And he really was a mess."

"I truly believe that only sheer force of will was keeping him functional at all, considering the sheer about of shoddily-repaired, half-repaired, or unrepaired damage I found under his armor." Medic Alert frowned at the screen. "Whoever the medics were back then, they weren't worth scrap. No skill at all. I could tell that just from looking at their handiwork. From the look of him, I doubt Ultimus had ever seen a real medic from the day he stepped off the assembly line."

"From what I know of the Quintessons, probably not." Ultra Rodimus shifted, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk. "What can you tell me?"

"His frame is actually younger than yours is, though his spark chamber and laser core are much older. He's been completely rebuilt at least once, perhaps more. From what I can tell, he's actually about twice your age, give or take a few millennia either way. As I said, he is a Transformer, a quad-changer, though he's never transformed. He's never even flown under his own power. He'll have to be taught to transform, how to control his alt modes, and how to fly. For a while it's going to be very much like having a sparkling running around Autobase. If he has any built-in weaponry, it will have to be located and then he'll have to learn to use it. But that's not the most disturbing thing." The triple changer looked up, blue optics meeting green. "His entire sensor system looked like it had been melted not long after he came online and his pain receptors were completely slagged. The mech has no sense of pain."

"Did you repair that?" Ultra Rodimus asked.

Medic Alert shook his head. "He's gone so long being unable to feel pain that suddenly being able to feel it again might send him into shock. It might do more harm that good. I'll need to consult with him and run a great deal of tests before I decide what to do about it."

The grey mech frowned. "He's been a very successful gladiator despite being unable to feel pain. Maybe it won't matter whether he can feel it or not. We'll have to wait and see." He crossed his arms over his chest, contemplating the screen for a long moment. "Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment. If anything else comes up, you'll be the first to know." Medic Alert inclined his head to the taller mech, watching as Ultra Rodimus left the office. Drawing in a deep breath, the CMO returned his attention to his work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day found Ultimus seated at the computer terminal in his quarters, poring over the historical records in Autobase's system. The older ones were fragmented and incomplete, proving that much had been lost during the interrim, either as a consequence of the war or faulty memories. What information was available Ultimus absorbed as quickly as he could, trying to learn about all that had happened during the time he had been in stasis. It made for some interesting, if disturbing, reading.

Leaning back in his chair, ignoring the shrill squeal of protest, Ultimus turned blank optics to the ceiling, trying to come to grips with what he'd found out. Cybertron had been gripped by cycle after cycle of violence despite the efforts of the ruling classes to prevent it. In some cases it had been the actions of those ruling classes that set off the cycle again. Peace had never lasted for long.

The redhead groaned and finally got to his feet, pacing his quarters a few times. Shaking himself, he headed for the door, feeling confined even though the quarters he'd been given were much larger than any other accommodations he'd ever had. Still, he needed to get out.

Other Autobots gave him curious looks as he wandered the corridors. Some of them offered greetings, which he returned with a grunt. Others just got out of his way. His wanderings took him out of the residential wing, past the science labs and the medical bay and briefly to the rec room. Rather than going inside, Ultimus paused in the doorway and looked in, watching the Autobots interacting over energon for a long moment before turning and choosing another direction, so deep in his thoughts he lost all track of where he was until the sound of gunfire snapped him back into reality.

The last time he'd heard that sound, the rebelling slaves had been firing on him and his comrades, hunting them across the face of Cybertron. Instinct flattened him to the wall, ready to fight or bolt, until his processor caught up with the rest of him. Ruffling and resettling blue and gold armor, Ultimus peeled himself away from the wall, taking stock of where he'd ended up. Across the corridor from him was a door marked as the shooting range, which was where the sounds of gunfire was coming from. The big mech eased over and looked inside, finding a slightly-built grey mech with doorwings holding a large rifle, firing on the targets at the far end of the room.

It took a moment for the little mech to realize he was being watched. Lowering the rifle, he turned to fix bright blue optics on the watcher, blinking up at him.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there!" the little mech chirped. "You must be that new mech found in the old ruins. I've never seen you before, so you must be... I've never even heard of a mech like you before. There aren't many mechs of that size, aside from Ultra Rodimus and the gestalts and Omega Supreme, and I know all of them, but I've never seen you before so you must be new. And the only new mech I've heard of was found in the ruins of that facility in the Badlands. That was you, right?"

The torrent of words caught Ultimus off-guard, and for a moment he could only stare at the small mech, trying to think of a reply. None of the mecha he'd ever known had talked that much. "Yes, that was me," he replied after a brief silence. "My name is Ultimus."

"I'm Bluestreak," the little grey mech replied, grinning cheerfully up at him. "I'm the best sniper in the Autobot ranks, so I come down here often to practice so I don't lose my accuracy. Did you come down here to practice, too?"

"I was just wandering around and ended up down here," Ultimus answered. "I'm promarily a swordsmech and hand-to-hand fighter. Guns were forbidden to gladiators and slaves back when I was built. The Quints figured it would give us ideas of rebellion." Acid dripped from the words.

Bluestreak blinked up at him. "You've never fired a gun before? Really? I've never met any mech who didn't even know how to fire a gun before. You'll have to learn, then, since most of the Decepticons prefer to shoot at us from a distance as opposed to getting close enough for bladed weapons or bare fists to come into play, and every warrior has to be able to shoot at an enemy since the enemy will be shooting at him and not want a warrior to get anywhere near him. With your size you'll be able to use some big guns and cannons, maybe the big weapons that can take down a gestalt in one shot!"

Ultimus shrugged, most of that going right over his head. "I already have a lot to learn. What's one more new thing to add on top of that?"

The little mech reached out to pat the closest part of Ultimus's armor he could reach, the kilt-like armor plates covering his thigh, in a reassuring manner. "We all have new things to learn. You'll get used to it, and you'll adapt, I know it. If you've lasted this long you're a real survivor, and I highly doubt you have any intention of laying down and giving up now!" He shifted his grip on his rifle. "If you're not here to work on your marksmanship, maybe you're here to keep your other skills in practice? The sparring arenas are farther down the hall, on the left." Bluestreak pointed.

Yellow optics brightened slightly. "That sounds like a better idea... Maybe it'll also give me a chance to digest what I've been learning." Nodding to the small mech, Ultimus turned and left the shooting range, hearing the gunfire resuming behind him as he walked down the corridor to the door marked "training room". Stepping up to the door to activate the sensors, Ultimus looked inside.

The room was vast, broken up into several sections. Several large circles, sparring rings, had been marked out on the floors. Training drones were lined up along one wall. A few other Autobots were in the room, testing their skills against each other. Ultimus eyed them, evaluating their skills with the critical optic of a veteran warrior, specialized in the field of taking other mechs apart. It took him only a few moments to reach the conclusion that their technique could use work. Snorting to himself, he made his way to one of the other sparring circles, drawing his massive sword out of subspace and beginning his warmup.

The former was so absorbed in his swordwork that when his blade collided with another weapon, he actually jumped, startled. His head came up, sulfur-yellow optics wide with surprise, to find a crowd surrounding the sparring ring at a respectful distance and Ultra Rodimus right in front of him, a long-shafted, double-bladed battleax in the Prime's hands. It was that battleax with which Ultimus' sword had collided, startling him out of his concentration.

"Your swordwork is most impressive," Ultra Rodimus told him, his emerald optics gleaming. "Would you be willing to test your skill against mine?"

"I'm not an easy opponent, and I don't hold back," Ultimus warned. "Pulling hits was... greatly discouraged back when I was built."

"I can handle whatever you can dish out," the Prime replied. He gestured to the ring with his ax. "Shall we?"

Ultimus stared at him for a long moment, then showed his fangs in a nearly feral grin, getting a mutter of unease from the surrounding crowd. Ignoring the watchers, the big redhead took up a position in the ring, settling into a battle stance. Ultra Rodimus settled into place across from him, holding his ax in a manner that very clearly stated he knew very well how to use it. For a long moment the pair merely held their stances, regarding each other.

Then the Prime's lean frame uncoiled with lightning swiftness, and the match was on.

Despite Ultimus' initial misgivings about fighting the faction leader, he quickly discovered that Ultra Rodimus was better than he appeared. The Prime was _fast, _actually faster than Ultimus was, though Ultimus had the advantage in mass, and experience. Under other circumstances he'd have the advantage of greater reach, but Ultra Rodimus' weapon easily negated that. After a while Ultimus had to admit that his opponent also had an advantage in sheer flexibility. He'd never seen any mech bend and twist that way to avoid hits, and the winces from the onlookers whenever Ultra Rodimus twisted in an odd or awkward direction was a clear indication that the Prime was alone in having such a flexible frame.

The match lasted the better part of a joor, drawing in a crowd. Almost the entire population of Autobase had gathered to watch when Ultimus succeeded in disarming the Prime and pinning him, blade pressed against the cables of the grey mech's throat. Ultra Rodimus yielded gracefully, allowing Ultimus to pull him to his feet.

"That was a most enjoyable experience," the Autobot commander commented over the awed murmuring from the crowd, grinning up at the former gladiator. "It's very rare that I have the opportunity to spar against a warrior of your caliber. There's a lot I could learn from you, I think."

"I've never faced an opponent quite like you before," Ultimus admitted, securing his sword across his back. "I look forward to sparring against you in the future."

Ultra Rodimus' grin widened. He was about to reply when a stir at the entrance caught his attention, a scowl crossing his features. Ultimus turned to look, watching a pair of mechs, one red and one yellow, came bolting in.

"When those two are moving that fast, it's never a good thing," the young Prime muttered before raising his voice. "Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Just what are you up to this time?"

"Why do you always assume we're up to something?" the red one almost whined.

"Because I know you, Sideswipe. And I've been the target of too many of your pranks. I know you're up to something." Turning a laser-intense glare on the mech he'd identified as Sideswipe, he was about to say something else when the doors opened again and another mech stormed in.

The newcomer was a big flier, easily in the same height class as Ultimus and Ultra Rodimus, maybe even bigger. Long wings spread out behind his shoulders. His expression was reminiscent of a stormcloud about to unleash unholy fury, and it was easy to see why. His frame dripped with yellow paint, the fuselage on his back patterned in black and white checks. A word had been boldly painted just behind his wings, on the sides of the fuselage. After a moment of blinking, Ultimus made out the word "TAXI" painted in neat letters. Behind the angry mech came another, also a flier, colored in silver, red, and yellow.

Ultra Rodimus just stared for a moment, then shook his head, looking back at Sideswipe. "I swear you two have a death wish."

"It wasn't our fault!" Sideswipe protested.

"I can see the paint smears on your hands from here," the Prime informed him bluntly. Drawing himself up to his full height, he glared at the red and yellow mechs. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you are going to strip that yellow paint off Skyfire and repaint him in his proper colors. And you are going to be doing it properly. Silverbolt-" he motioned to the mech who had followed Skyfire into the arena, "-will be watching, and if he catches you slacking, he has my permission to shock you in the aft until you do it right."

That got a whine from the two miscreants and a grin from the mech indicated as Silverbolt. A glare from Ultra Rodimus that could have stopped a rampaging Menasor in his tracks got a flinch and finally a reluctant acceptance from both. The two slunk out, Skyfire and Silverbolt following them, a black cloud still hovering almost visibly over his head.

"Does that happen often?" Ultimus asked after a moment of silence, looking at the Prime curiously.

Ultra Rodimus groaned, rolling his optics. "Let me put it this way... There are times when I'm not sure if I'm running an army or a daycare."

That said, the grey mech stalked out of the arena, muttering to himself while the big former gladiator proceeded to laugh his skidplate off behind him.

**Tbc...**

Another chapter down! No idea when the next one might be out, though... RL isn't slowing down and my plot bunnies are driving me _insane. _

**Darth Krande: **Sorry for the wait!

**Icy: **XD It's inevitable that he's going to be exposed to that particular annoyance. Roddy can't avoid it, and by extension neither can Ulti


	8. Learning

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the long delay. Things have been hectic here. Last August, on the 29th (my 27th birthday of all days) I was sent on an errand. I'd just gotten onto the main road when a diabetic idiot driving a pickup truck, who had obviously neglected to check his blood sugar, passed out behind the wheel, blew through a turn, and slammed into the car I was driving. I was cut pretty badly by glass from the shattered driver's-side windows and ended up spending three hours in the hospital. This January I underwent day surgery to remove shards of glass from inside my lower lip, which was split wide open in the crash. My lip is badly scarred inside and permanently swollen, and still aches all the way through.

We have FINALLY sold my grandfather's house. Now it's someone else's problem. My sister Kate sold her pickup truck, which mom had been driving since that moron slammed into me. Literally 20 minutes after the truck was sold, one of the electric baseboard heaters in our living room died, shorting the thermostat and lighting it on fire. The flames were shooting out a foot from the thermostat. Mom cut the power, which seemed to kill the fire, then we bolted outside and waited for the fire department.

I've gotten my hands on three games I have been absolutely DYING to get: Transformers Fall of Cybertron, Darksiders II, and Silent Hill: Downpour. I'm also into Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2. Between all of those games I've got enough to keep me occupied for the next year and a half. Back at the start of December I made the mistake of starting Pokemon Diamond on my DS, and it's proven fragging addictive. I now have Diamond and Platinum, and wheedled my sister into lending me her DS and her copy of Pearl so I can trade evolve pokemon as well as catching and trading Pearl-version exclusives. Oy...

On the fic side of things, I have been doing some tweaks to my characters...

**Ultra Rodimus' scorpion and snake modes have been pruned and no longer exist. His jet and starfighter alts have been merged into one space-capable jet alt. He now has standard green Transformer optics rather than human-type eyes. **I'm contemplating further tweaks, once he stops growling at me.

I co-write with Omicron the Ice Queen here at on her Level Workers fic saga (I write as Drift and as Metroplex), and I also have my own account at Archive Of Our Own. You can find me there under the screen name **Cyberra**. Listed there are all the stories I've written in collaboration with other authors, as well as a fic that is not available here. Yet.

That said, on to the story.

~...~ -hardline communication

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

**Awakening**

**Chapter 7: Learning**

Ultimus sat on a ledge on one of Autobase's towers, elbow on knee and chin in palm, watching the activity in the courtyard below. His optics tracked on other Autobots moving around, as well as the humans and other alien ambassadors who were fairly regular visitors to the metal planet. The big mech had a lot on his mind and had escaped to the tower heights to think. It was no secret that he went up there when he needed time to himself, and no one seemed very inclined to bother him.

It had been several Earth months since he had been rescued from stasis in the Badlands. For weeks he had existed in a state of near-perpetual culture shock, trying to absorb how much everything had changed since he had last walked the planet. What had shocked him most was how the other Autobots regarded him. When he had gone into stasis, gladiators like Ultimus had been hated, cut down at every opportunity and hounded relentlessly across the planet. Here, in this time, once word of his past had gotten out, most of the Autobots looked at him with relief and wary respect. The big mech was still not sure what to think of that. He was used to the hatred, to hiding what he was, not being able to openly walk among the descendants of those who'd destroyed his comrades without fear of attack. It was unnatural in his opinion.

Another thing he needed to get used to was the presence of organic life-forms. Back when he had been a slave to the Quintessons, the only organics he had ever seen had been spectators in the arenas or potential buyers for the domestic goods line of Cybertronians. They had looked down on the Transformer races as property, not as living beings. To see organics treating Cybertronians as equals had taken Ultimus quite a while to get his processor around. He was still getting used to maneuvering around them. There had been some close calls when he'd forgotten to watch his sensors, one of which had resulted in broken bones on the part of the organic who'd chosen to cut across Ultimus' path without looking up, but that had been a learning experience for both. The big redhead had improved greatly since. The Prime had commented that Ultimus was almost ready for his first trip off Cybertron. Ultimus was of two minds about that. On one hand, it would be an interesting experience to visit a strange world. On the other hand, he had never been off Cybertron before, and the thought made him more than a little nervous.

The rumble of engines from below shook Ultimus out of his thoughts before he could make himself even more nervous than he already was. His yellow gaze dropped to the courtyard, watching as one of the other Autobots leaped into the thin air and transformed into an aircraft. Autobase's protective dome opened just enough to allow the flier to escape, then closed behind him. Ultimus tracked on the glow of the other mech's running lights until he vanished into the distance.

That was a trick Ultimus had yet to learn. Apparently he did have a transformation cog, all the necessary hardware, and the software for transformation, unusual for a mech from his era, but it had never been used. He hadn't even known it was there. Since waking from stasis he'd been through upgrades and repairs and tests, making sure his frame was in peak condition. The long stasis sleep had caused joints to seize and parts to corrode. He'd spent a lot of time in the medical bay even after that first long stint. While he'd finally been cleared and declared to be in fine health, he had yet to figure out how to transform.

It was about time he learned how, he thought to himself. With that in mind, he rose from his perch and reentered the base, making his way to the level where the officers had their office spaces.

Ultra Rodimus Prime was right where Ultimus had thought he would be. The gray mech was sitting behind his desk, optics tracking on the screen of his monitor, tapping a stylus absently against his lower lip. Datapads were arranged in neat stacks on the desk surface, far more of them in the "in" pile than the "out" pile. It was no wonder the young Prime spent so much of his time in there, trying to get through as much of it as possible. Off to one side his aide, Sandstorm, was sorting datapads and making notes on one of his own.

The Prime's head came up as the door opened, green optics flickering in a blink as he saw who had entered his domain. Leaning back in his chair with a soft groan, Ultra Rodimus stretched, dropping his stylus onto the desk surface.

"You just saved me from drowning in a sea of paperwork," he commented wryly. Tilting his head slightly, he gazed up at Ultimus for a moment, then gestured to the chair across his desk, pushing a stack of datapads out of the way. "What can I do for you?"

"Medic Alert has cleared me as being as completely healthy as possible, yes?" Ultimus took the offered seat, shifting slightly and leaning forward.

"He has, yes." The younger mech nodded, one optic rim lifting curiously.

"He has also stated that I am transform-capable, correct?"

"Yes, you are. From all indications, and from the amount of kibble you manage to fold inside your armor, you're a quad-changer." Ultra Rodimus nodded again.

"Then might I inquire as to when I am going to be taught to change form? It seems everyone has forgotten that I have no idea how." Ultimus' yellow optics narrowed slightly.

There was a brief, blank expression on the Prime's face. Then green optics flickered and widened slightly in comprehension. "Oh. Right. My apologies, Ultimus. Transformation is so much a part of us now that it completely slipped our minds you're from a time before it existed or was at all known. Until you woke up I've never actually met a mech who didn't instinctively know how it works."

The redheaded mech waited as Ultra Rodimus absently chewed his lip thoughtfully, tapping one finger on the desk surface. Striped armor ruffled as the young mech apparently came to a decision.

"I think the easiest way to help would be to walk you through the coding and equipment, then let you experiment with it a bit until you feel ready to take the next step," Ultra Rodimus said finally. "If you'll permit me to hardlink with you..."

Sulfur-yellow optics narrowed to glowing slits. "Which 'next step' are you referring to?" the larger mech asked suspiciously.

One corner of Ultra Rodimus' mouth twitched into a faint smile. "You've said yourself that you've never been off Cybertron's surface, never not in contact with the ground in some manner. One of your alt modes is an aircraft. So the next step will be learning to fly."

There was a long silence as Ultimus contemplated that. The thought of leaving the ground sent a skitter of nervousness down his spinal support column, but the big ex-gladiator had never been the type to back down from a challenge of any type. He would not back down from this. Squashing down his nervousness, he nodded firmly, extending his arm. Sharp claws extended, flexing on air in instinctive warning before withdrawing back into the big mech's fingertips. Ultra Rodimus said nothing about the threat, simply waiting for the claws to retract, then lifting his own arm and opening a hatch on his forearm to unspool the cable inside. Light fingertips brushed over Ultimus' armor to locate the older mech's dataport, smoothly plugging in and pinging for access.

It took a klik for the two mechs to work through the connection protocols. Ultimus watched intently as Ultra Rodimus navigated through his systems, making sure to go slowly enough that the big redhead could see what he was doing. There was coding there Ultimus had never even knew he had, and he watched in fascination as his commander leafed through it. Sensing his interest, Ultra Rodimus sent across a data packet explaining what each bit of code was for.

~Here it is,~ the Prime told him, pointing out one particular code string. ~See? This is the initialization program for your transformation cog. Once activated and installed, you'll be able to transform. It will take some practice, as you've got three different alt modes, and trying not to try and change into all three at once can be a bit tricky for a rookie.~

Ultimus grunted his understanding, reaching for the code string. Ultra Rodimus' awareness moved aside and watched as Ultimus activated and integrated the new coding. New glyphs popped up on the ex-gladiator's HUD.

~I think I've got it,~ the big redhead announced after several minutes.

He got the distinct impression that the gray Prime was looking over his shoulder at the now-integrated coding. ~Looks like it. Now, you need to actually give it a try. The training rooms should be empty right now, if you'd like to head down there and experiment.~ He sent across another data packet, a crash course on how to handle wheels, multiple legs, and wings. But now on how to actually get off the ground. Not yet.

~This is going to be interesting,~ Ultimus observed with a snort. Ultra Rodimus chuckled, then withdrew and disconnected the hardline.

"Good luck," the Prime called after Ultimus as the redhead left his office.

It turned out that the transforming was the easy part. Learning to handle his new modes was another can of electro-worms entirely. Thankfully, there was no one in the training rooms to see Ultimus' awkwardness. Several hours later Ultra Rodimus joined him, having been evicted from his office for a while. The Prime chose to spend the time helping the elder mech learn to handle his alt modes.

Ultimus' ground alt turned out to be a massive armored cargo transport, like most of the bigger mechs seemed to be. His cab was enormous, based on one of the long-haul truck cabs that was as much miniature apartment on wheels as it was truck cab. The interesting part there was learning to maneuver his trailer without getting caught on something or jackknifing himself. Ultra Rodimus demonstrated with his own truck form, also setting up obstacle courses for Ultimus to make his way through. He could hear the growls of frustration coming from the redhead, but the big mech refused to back down.

"Just wait until you have to maneuver through traffic," the Prime advised, chuckling softly at the resulting growl. "That's a whole new level of difficulty."

The second alt, the beast mode, was a cyberwolf. Ultimus' ears twitched back and forth as he inspected himself, then attempted to move. He got tangled up in his own legs quite a bit until he got the hang of coordinating four legs. That mode was also quite agile, which took some getting used to.

When it came to the redhead's flight mode, a Cybertronian-style figher craft, Ultra Rodimus hardlinked with Ultimus to show him what shifts of his control surfaces would do what, and what the reactions would be. He shared some of his memories of flight, allowing Ultimus to experience what it was to race through the skies without having gotten off the ground yet. The Prime also introduced Ultimus to some flight simulator programs, letting him practice control surface adjustments.

"So when will I finally get off the ground?" Ultimus asked three months later, as the two big mechs wandered into Autobase's rec room for energon.

Ultra Rodimus vented air heavily, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "That I can't teach you here. Cybertron is not a safe place for a novice flier to learn. There are simply too many hazards and obstacles on this planet. Even experienced fliers run into trouble here."

Ultimus rumbled. "Will I _ever _get to learn to fly?"

"Of course. Just not here." Green optics met yellow. "You're going to learn on Earth. We're boarding the shuttle for Earth in two days."

There was a brief silence as Ultimus stared at him. "Earth?"

"You're ready to go offworld now. Earth has open spaces with few obstacles where you can learn to fly, and a greater variety of weather conditions to adapt to than Cybertron does. Plus, the ground is softer if you crash into it." The wry smile that appeared on Ultra Rodimus' lips clearly hinted that he'd done more than his share of crashing. He reached over to rest his hand on a blue forearm. "You'll do fine."

"I hope," the larger mech mumbled, taking a long drink of his energon.

**Tbc...**

*sighs* That took some major plot bunny wrangling to write... Hopefully the next chapter won't be so long in coming. Keep your fingers crossed that no new catastrophes happen between then and now.

As always, please read and review!


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